Season of Mirror and Lights
by Coyote Laughing Softly
Summary: When Ron goes to great trouble to get Hermione a special Christmas present, an overhead conversation between her and Rose show him that it's not so much his presents, but his presence that matters.


Some of you are looking at this and saying, "This isn't a To Know You is to Love You update. Why isn't this a To Know You is to Love You Update?" and the answer is, because life sucks and has been too overwhelming for me to write as much as I would like. But chapters will be up soon, so never fret! Until then, please enjoy this bit of Romione fluff/smut that I've had laying around for emergencies; I figure Christmas and ship week qualify as an emergency.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good read!

The small cottage was lit festively for the holiday season, with a mix of Muggle and Wizard decorations, the two styles giving a slightly jumbled yet cozy effect. In the air hung the scent of Christmas biscuits that Hermione had baked earlier with Rose that day, made with more enthusiasm than skill by the latter. Hugo was spending a few nights with her parents as a special treat, before being picked up in the morning. Rose had been given dinner and put to bed long ago, the five year old wiggling in her bed in excitement over spending Christmas Eve at the Burrow tomorrow. Crookshanks, adorned with a jaunty red and green bow around his neck (which he had accepted with resignation), was curled up under the tree, enjoying the softness of the fake velvet skirt. All in all, it was a picture of domestic bliss.

Except for the bushy-haired woman seething on the sofa, her cheery Santa-faced slippers contrasting harshly with her bad mood.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the arm, her attention focused on the ticking wallclock, her expression promising no good for the person responsible for her ire. Ron was late. Again. Now, she wasn't one of those wives that demanded their husbands be home at a strictly set time, and she knew emergencies came up. She didn't even mind when he went out with Harry and the others from work. But this was becoming a nightly habit, and one she was not happy about. She had thought it would stop around the holidays, as she had taken time off from work to be with the family, and he usually did the same. But instead of a break, he had seemed to increase his workload, and he refused to discuss it at all. He was supposed to have been with them while they baked today, teasing her about her cooking and trying to steal biscuits, which always made Rose giggle. The sad look of disappointment on her face when she saw that Daddy wasn't coming hardened Hermione's resolve to get answers tonight.

There was a large crack from the fireplace, and Ron emerged from the green smoke, coughing. Instantly, she was on her feet and across the room, her hair bouncing wildly around her. Ignoring his tired smile, She poked a tiny finger into his chest, having to angle it upwards due to the difference in height.

"Where have you been?" she hissed.

His smile changed quickly to a scowl. "Hi, Hermione. My day was alright, thanks for asking. Why no, I _haven't_ had supper yet."

Her nostrils flared at his sarcasm, her lips drawing back into a sneer. "Then you should have been here earlier. Rose and I had supper hours ago, and it was quite lovely."

"It couldn't be helped! I've been late every night for weeks, so what made you think tonight would be any different?" he retaliated in growing anger, tearing off his grey outer robe and flinging it onto a chair.

"I thought it would be different since you knew we were supposed to bake today! Poor Rose was so let down, and I didn't have anything to tell her!"

Ron winced; he loved his daughter, and hated like hell to disappoint her. In truth, he had forgotten what day it was, and was sorry to have missed it. One of his favorite sights was Hermione and Rose in the matching aprons Rose insisted they wear, both of them covered in flour.

"Look, I'm sorry that I wasn't here; you know I wouldn't upset Rose-"

"It wasn't just Rose! I was upset too, but that doesn't seem to matter to you, and hasn't for weeks now!"

He bristled at the unfairness of her statement, and both of them launched into a heated exchange.

Neither of them noticed the small figure in the shadow of the doorway, nervously clutching her battered stuffed dragon in it's tiny Cannons shirt. She had been too excited to sleep, and had thought she heard Daddy get back. He hadn't been home much lately, and she missed him. He was always willing to chase her and Hugo around playing Troll, and could be talked into sneaking her an extra biscuit or two. She had asked Mummy why he was never home, but it had seemed to upset her, so she hadn't asked again. Following the voices of her parents to the den, she had stood outside the door, suddenly unsure of whether or not she should go in.

They were getting louder and louder, fighting in a way she had never seen before. She was used to the daily squabbling about things like which shelf the glasses should go on, or who had cut an article out of the Prophet before the other had had a chance to read it. They would go back and forth for a bit, but then it would be over, and eventually one of them would kiss the other, which was yucky. This was...different. Bigger, and she didn't like it. Not at all. Then, Daddy was gone, and Mummy was back on the couch, holding her head in her hands. Rose panicked. Why had Daddy left again? He kept being gone longer and longer, and she was afraid he wasn't going to come back at all one day.

Hermione wiped a few tears from the corner of her eyes, angry with both herself and Ron. Ron, for not sharing what was obviously important information and for making her worry, and her for letting it go this long and for not handling it better. When he got back she would apologize, and try to be more understanding while they worked this out. She was about to go fix herself a hot drink while she waited, when a small body hurled itself onto her, clutching at her and crying.

"Mummy! You have to go get Daddy back! Please, please bring him home!"

Shocked, Hermione wrapped Rose in her arms, inwardly cursing herself. Though she and Ron had fights like these very seldom anymore, they were always careful that when they did, it wasn't in front of the children, and that they put up a Silencing Charm. Tonight they had forgotten, and poor Rose must have walked in on them.

"Daddy will be home in a little bit, Rose. You don't need to worry," she soothed.

Rose shook her head. "No! He keeps going away, and what if he doesn't come back this time? You have to go get him and make him stay!"

Oh, Merlin. How had she not realized how badly Rose had been taking this? Hugo wasn't quite old enough to notice his father's odd absences yet, but his sister was. She was only five years old; it was no wonder the last few weeks had confused her, and tonight must have brought it all to a head. Slowly, she rocked her daughter, stroking the tangle of red hair that hung down her back.

"Sweetheart, Daddy's been very busy lately, but he is never, _ever_ going to leave us. We're his three most important people, and he loves us more than anything."

Sniffling, Rose pulled away, large blue eyes caught between fear and wanting to believe what she had been told. "Really? More than anything? How much is that exactly?"

Hermione had to let out a small laugh at that. Her daughter was just as inquisitive and analytical as she had been at that age. "Remember when we tried to count the stars one night, and we couldn't because there were so many? Well, your father loves us even more than that."

"But you were fighting."

"Yes, we fight sometimes," Hermione admitted, seeing no point in lying. "sometimes it's his fault, sometimes it's mine. Usually, it's a bit of both. But fighting doesn't mean that we don't love each other, or that one of us is going to leave."

"Daddy left! I watched him do it!"

"Daddy just went to cool down. Rose, sometimes he has to leave, but you need to understand; he will always come back to us as soon as he can."

"Are you sure?"

"He promised me that he would a long time ago. You know, I hate it when he leaves too, and I would go right after him if I thought he might not come back. But I believe in him and that promise, so I wait for him. And you know what? He hasn't broken that promise. Not one single time."

Rose thought about her mother's words for a moment. She had always been taught that trust was important, and that you should keep your promises. If Daddy made a promise, and Mummy believed it, then it must be okay.

"So he'll go with us to the Burrow tomorrow?" she asked with a yawn.

Hermione stood up, settling Rose on her hip with a small grunt. "Of course he will! Can you imagine what Nana would do to him if he didn't?"

A sleepy giggle was all the response she got, and Hermione carried her daughter back to her room, tucked her back into bed, and kissed the already half asleep child on her forehead. Tiptoeing out of the room quietly, she shut the door until it was open only a crack, before turning back to go wait for Ron. With a start, she saw that he was already back in the room, sitting on the sofa, his battered canvas work satchel at his feet. She joined him, but he spoke before she had a chance to say anything.

"Did you mean all that? What you were saying to Rose," he asked softly, taking one of her hands, his rough thumb stroking over her knuckles.

Hermione arched one brow. "Are you implying that I would lie to our daughter? Of course I meant it. Every word. But how did you even hear?"

Ron gave a sheepish shrug. "I wasn't very far before I popped back into the kitchen. I hadn't had dinner, you know. No point in starving to death while I sulked."

She snorted at this, but then grew serious. "Rose saw us fighting. We forgot to put up the charms, and I think she's been worried about how much you've been gone lately."

Flopping backwards, Ron ran his other hand through his hair, making it stick up in chunks. "I know, I heard. Poor kid, I didn't think she noticed."

"Well of course she noticed! She always looks forward to you coming home, and you haven't been getting back before her bedtime for ages now. She misses spending time with you, and she's not the only one."

"What you told her was true, though. No matter how mad I get, I'll always come back to you. You, Rose, and Hugo are the most important things in my life," Ron said fervently. His family _was_ the most important thing to him, and he never wanted them to doubt that.

"I know that, and I'm sure Rose does, too. She just got scared tonight. Not that I can blame her. Because I know that there is absolutely no worse feeling in the world than watching you walk away, and thinking you won't be coming back."

Her words were like a punch, but he knew from the way she squeezed his hand and the small smile she gave him that she wasn't holding his past against him, but letting him know how much he meant to her, and how much she hated the thought of losing him. Still, he felt guilty for making his family worry.

"I never go very far. I only make it to the edge of the woods, actu-"

"I know. Why else do you think I put that candle in that particular window?"

His head snapped to the left, wide eyes focusing on the window that faced the back of the house. There was a candle there, red in honor of the season. But it was usually blue, and in the small, frosted glass bowl, it always reminded him of-

"How did you know?" he asked, voice thick.

Her shoulders jerked in an embarrassed little shrug. "I was scared when you did it the first time we had a fight when we moved in together, so I...sort of put a modified Tracking Charm on you. Not to spy!" she added quickly, "I was afraid you might Splinch yourself or something, and I wanted to be able to find you if something went wrong."

That was understandable, even if he hadn't Splinched himself in ages. It was still possible, and Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she didn't plan for all possible disasters. And as she had never used it to follow him before he was ready, he couldn't be upset. Especially not after seeing that candle. There had been nights he had stood out in the trees, trying to cool his head, and he would see that light. It was the light that always told him that Hermione was there, waiting for him to come home, and he could never resist the pull for long. He would go in, and she would be there, and they would work out whatever had started the row. The fact that the candle had been placed there on purpose just made it mean that much more. She had set it out for him, her signal that just as much as he wanted to come back, she wanted him there as well. And what she had said to Rose...he knew Hermione loved him, but hearing her tell their daughter just how much she did, and how much faith she had in him had put a large lump in his throat.

Tenderly, he kissed the side of her head, her fuzzy hair tickling his nose. "I love you. And I promise, I'll make it up to you and the kids in the next few days. Tonight was the last night that I had to be out."

For a brief moment, Hermione was content to stay like that, leaning against each other on the couch, the fingers of their clasped hands slowly brushing together. But there were still things that needed to be said, and this time, it needed to be done right.

"Ron, I'm sorry for snapping earlier. You know I understand when you can't talk about a mission, and I understand you get called in sometimes. But this has been different, and you've shut me out. That isn't like you, and it makes me worry. We're supposed to tell each other about the important things."

"I know. and it wasn't that I wanted to keep things from you, or make you wor- wait. You...you didn't think that I was messing about or something, did you? Because I-"

A small slap on the arm interrupted him. "Don't be ridiculous! I know you've been hit on a few times, but there's not an unfaithful bone in your body, Ron Weasley! The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. All I knew was that there was something going on, and that you weren't telling me. If there's something wrong, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. That's part of what being married is all about."

He relaxed back into the cushions, reassured by her instant declaration of trust in him. It had been bad enough that he had inadvertently, and with the best intentions, hurt her and Rose, but he never wanted to give her cause to doubt him.

"You weren't supposed to find out until tomorrow night, but I s'pose the surprise is ruined anyway. You know I've never been the best with gifts, so when I saw this, I just knew I had to get it for you."

As he was talking, he had leaned forward to scoop up his satchel, which he placed in her lap. "Sorry about the wrapping, but I think you'll like it anyway."

Puzzled by his odd little grin, Hermione undid the flap, her hand reaching in to pull out a large, paper covered rectangle. Pulling back the edges of the paper, she gasped. In her hands was the special edition of Hogwarts: A History, with the tooled leather cover and hand illuminations by one of the world's leading Wizard illustrators. She had lusted after that book, there being only five copies made, but knew it was far beyond her budget.

"Ron, this is-I Just...oh my. How did-who did you have to kill?" she babbled excitedly.

"Only bad people. Mostly."

"Ron!"

He laughed at her squawk of indignation, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Joking! I managed to make a good arrangement. The dealer wanted an autograph from Harry, and he brought the price down for me. Not enough to be unfair for him, but enough where I didn't have to wonder which of my organs I was going to have to sell. I've been pulling extra shifts for some quick cash, and with the raise I just got, and my bonus, I was able to swing it."

The rich, burgundy leather was almost warm under her touch, and she felt the familiar desire to lose herself in it's pages, wondering if the new additions would be accurate. But as delirious with glee as she was, there was still something from keeping it from being quite perfect. Ron must have seen it, for his shoulders slumped, and the dark circles under his eyes became more pronounced.

"You don't like it? C'mon, that has to rate higher than an, 'unusual'!"

Hermione came out of her musings with a start, instantly feeling guilty. She needed to make it clear to him exactly what she felt. He had obviously put a lot of thought into this, and had made considerable personal sacrifice. The fact that he would do that just for her meant so much; but, as much as she loved books, there was something that she treasured even more. With the great care that she reserved for a beloved book, she set it down on the coffee table, and then turned to look Ron squarely in the eye, bringing her hands up to cup his jaw so he couldn't look away.

"Ron, this is probably one of the most wonderful gifts you have ever gotten me; it was incredibly thoughtful, and the extra work you had to do couldn't have been easy. This book is always going to be special to me because of that, and I'm going to be the proudest person ever when I show what you did off to everyone."

"But. I'm sensing a but in there somewhere."

"But, as you say...as much as I love this, I would much rather have you here with me and the kids. They're going to be growing up so quickly, and I want them to make as many memories with you as possible, especially around the holidays. And not just them; I want some time with you, too. I've missed sitting here and talking to you once we've put the kids to bed, and I've missed going into work with you in the mornings. I've just missed..._you_. I love you, and as great as the things you bring me are, they can't replace you."

Tears stung the back of his eyes, and he bent to kiss her, hiding his soppy reaction. He had heard other men at the office complaining that their wives or girlfriends were never satisfied, that they always wanted something more. Well, here he was with a wife that not only appreciated his efforts, but would rather have his bony white arse around instead of a nice gift! He didn't quite know what he had done to be so lucky, but he wasn't going to question it. The kiss broke, and she cuddled into his chest, his arms wrapping around her with a happy sigh.

"Besides, it makes me feel guilty. We usually save the special things for the kids."

Ron grunted. "Exactly. You said yourself that we can't focus on the kids so much that we forget to make an effort with each other, remember? Besides, I'm saving my best ideas for when they're moody teenagers, and I have to prove that their ol' man is still cool."

Hermione stood up, pulling at his hand with both of hers to tug him up after her. "I don't think you have to worry about them just yet. But if you'd like to come upstairs and give _me_ a bit of proof that you're still cool..." she trailed off with a wink. She had missed him in less innocent ways, as well.

His earlier tiredness seemed to vanish, and he followed her upstairs with a spring in his step that he hadn't had in quite some time. Bloody hell, what had he been thinking? Thoughtful gifts were all well and good, but they shouldn't cut into prime shagging time with his wife! Reaching their room, he kicked off his boots while Hermione put up the special Charms, letting them keep an ear out for Rose, but keeping their noises silent. He placed his wand on the small bedside table, and when he turned around, he found that Hermione was already there, her hands running up the front of his body. small, deft fingers made quick work of his uniform buttons, and he reciprocated by lifting her jumper up over her head, tossing it into the corner. His hands smoothed over her back, down her shoulders to rest at the base of her spine, pulling her closer and letting her feel how excited he was.

Reaching up, she twined her arms about his neck, fingernails tickling through the hair at his neck. She brought his head down closer, pressing her lips tightly to his, noticing that they were slightly rough but not caring. She had missed this, the way his hands roamed her body affectionately, knowing all the right places to tease and caress. Not too much attention focused on her ribs, as she was ticklish, but his thumbs rubbing small circles on her hipbones made her sigh, right before he hooked them in her knickers and slid them to her thighs, so she could give a little wiggle so they would drop to her ankles to join her jeans.

He took a few steps forward, backing her up to the bed, his body following her down to stretch over her as he kicked off his trousers and boxers. They moved slowly, their tongues dancing together in exploration, savoring the contact. Quick, light kisses were placed on cheeks, foreheads and jaws, before Ron started to work his way down, stopping to nibble on her collar bones along the way. After two children, her body had settled, a bit thicker in the breasts and hips, though she was still a far cry from heavy. There were faint stretchmarks on her stomach, but hardly noticeable thanks to a special cream made by Molly. Ron loved them anyway, tracing them with his tongue, which had embarrassed her when he had first started doing it. She had been uncomfortable with them, feeling as if they were just one more thing marring her already scarred skin. Ron had been shocked; first, her scars had only bothered him in the sense that he hated to think of her in pain, and to be reminded of his failure to get to her in time. Second, these newer marks were viewed as little reminders of when she had been pregnant, her stomach swollen with the additions that would bring even more happiness into their lives. Besides, he had said, if she could be attached to his freckles, then he deserved a few stripes of his own to make over. In his typically sweet, humorous way, he had put her at ease; and though she still didn't think of them as particularly pretty, the fact that he still genuinely believed her to be desirable with them just made her love him all the more.

He was between her thighs now, nipping at the tender flesh, his fingers and tongue working in harmony to bring her to a slow, burning frenzy. The soft lapping was at a contrast to the roughness of his stubble, and she tossed her head on the pillow, whimpering as she tightened her fingers in his hair.

"Ron, please..."

That tone of voice, along with how wet she was, was enough to let him know that she was ready for more. Which was good, because he didn't think he was going to last very long. It felt like ages since he had been with her, and he couldn't contain the loud groan that escaped him as he slid into her, careful to let her adjust. They began to rock together, sweat slicking between them. The air was filled with their pants and low cries, slurred words of love and encouragement, whispers pleading for more. Normally, they would have changed positions at least once, but both seemed to prefer to face each other tonight, bodies locked as they watched the pleasure play out across the other's face. Neither lasted long, and Hermione pulled him closer on top of her, relishing the feel of him as their heartbeats continued to race.

Ron rolled to the side, pleased when Hermione burrowed against him, already mostly asleep. He thought about nudging her awake, not wanting the night to end so quickly, even if all they did was talk and cuddle. But they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow, and the kids would be bouncing off the walls. Plus, if she had been as frustrated all this time as she had sounded this evening, then knowing her, she hadn't been sleeping well. Instead, he played with the ends of her hair until she began to breath deeply, and then he silently scooted out of bed, throwing on pajama bottoms and a shirt before leaving the room. Not only was it chilly, but having small children had put a quick halt to roaming the house starkers.

His wandering lead, as always, to the kitchen. He had wolfed down the food that had been left for him from supper (no matter how upset she got, Hermione had never let him go hungry. It might just be a bucket of cold chicken, but he went to bed with a full stomach.), but he was still hungry. And, he reasoned, he had just burnt off a fair amount of calories, so he owed it to his body to replenish himself. Rummaging around, he found the biscuits. They were cut out into shapes, small animals, and a few people. Picking one up, he snickered. It had a disproportionately huge head, with chocolate frosting drizzled in wild zigzags to mimic a tangle of hair. It seemed that someone had made a biscuit portrait of Mummy, and he hated that he had missed seeing how that had played out.

The book had been a brilliant idea, and he didn't regret the extra work it had taken to make it possible. What he did regret were the moments missed with his family; books were books, but memories were priceless, as you never knew how many you would be able to make together. Losing Fred had taught him that, and as many memories as he had of his brother, they still weren't enough. He didn't want Hermione and the kids left feeling the same way if something happened to him. Still, he had meant what he said; they needed to do things for the other outside of being parents. Someday Rose and Hugo would be going off on their own, and he didn't want to find that he and Hermione had let the connection between them fade from neglect.

Maybe next time, they could have a date night, or a weekend away. He could arrange something with a set of grandparents, and whisk Hermione off for a surprise. That way, they would be doing something fun, and building important memories together. Yeah, that sounded more their speed. It also meant he wouldn't have to function on less than six hours sleep to do something nice, which sounded heavenly. Scooping up three (five) more biscuits, he wandered around the house, letting the crumbs fall to the floor behind him. They were instantly licked up by Crookshanks, who was trailing after him; they had perfected this arrangement years ago.

The lights in the study were out, except for the candle in the window. Leaning on the doorframe, Ron's mind drifted to a holiday season many years ago, when he was just a kid. It had been an exciting time; his first year at Hogwarts, meeting Harry and Hermione. Harry had shown him a mirror one night, and looking into it, he had seen things brought to life from his wildest fantasies. An older version of himself, smarter, stronger, and handsomer than all of his brothers put together. Top grades, first rate Quidditch player...the older him had been everything he had longed to be, but had never dared to hope he could. He had wanted all that so badly, he had been only a step away from crawling into the mirror to get it.

Finishing the last biscuit, he wiped the crumbs from his face, shaking his head at the dreams of an eleven year old. Well, no one could say he never dreamed big. Taking care to keep his footsteps quiet, he looked in on Rose, lying spread out in her little striped footie pajamas, the covers kicked off the side of the bed. He spread them back over her, knowing it was futile; she slept just like him. He left Crookshanks with her, knowing the cat was as protective of her as he had ever been over his mistress. Outside, the wind blew, and a branch scraped the side of the house. There was another Christmas with wind and trees when he was younger, that one far less pleasant. Hurt, anger, jealousy and betrayal...a dark, nasty voice in his head, constantly whispering poisonous lies.

Until he had acted without thinking, walking away in anger without remembering that he wouldn't be able to find the way back again. Merlin, how he had wanted to find his way back! He had been alone and afraid and guilty, loathing himself for what he had done. Huddled up miserably in his bed at Shell Cottage, he had prayed and pled, bargained and begged. And then, that sweet miracle; the sound of her voice, the beckoning light. And he found his way back, back to his friends, back to the path that he had never strayed from since.

Mounting the stairs, he completed the circle back to their room, pausing to watch his wife sleeping in the moonlight. Holidays of mirrors and lights...dreams and desire, longing and desperation. They both had their purposes. Mirrors could show you how things could be, gave you something to aim for. It could be a motivator if you let it, but it could also cause dissatisfaction as well, and you could lose yourself in chasing dreams while missing out on a perfectly good reality. But lights...lights were there for you in the darkness, leading you to where you _belonged._ He had been fortunate enough to have both in his life, and he wondered, as he settled into bed next to Hermione, which one he would pick to see again, given the choice.

"Ron..." Hermione muttered sleepily, tossing an arm over his chest.

Ron pulled her close, grinning up at the ceiling, thinking about the family that he had built with her, the three people that loved him more than anything.

"No contest, is it? The light. Every bloody time."


End file.
